Needles & Blades
by Houdini's Pool
Summary: Law disappears. Not like this was entirely unexpected, but it seems like he has no intentions of coming back, which eventually makes the Strawhats look for their newly acquired 'ally'. What they find is certainly not what they, or anyone for that matter, would have expected. Currently being revised.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Law disappears. Not like this was entirely unexpected, but it seems like he has no intentions of coming back, which eventually makes the Strawhats look for their newly acquired 'ally'. What they find is certainly not what they, or anyone for that matter, would have expected.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no one. Duh.

**Spoilers: **Set post Punk Hazard with established "alliance" - after chapter ~694.

**Warnings: **There will be swearing. More importantly: if you are not fond of possible violence, pain, needles, scalpels, ANGST - you might want to consider stopping here. Abandon all hope ye, who enter here. you have been warned.

**A/N:** Unfortunately, I really suck with plots, so if you should have anything to criticize about my plot that might find itself illogical and terribad enough to be on a Transformers/Michael Bay movie level (can it get any worse than that?) I shall not blame you. I always come up with ideas for single scenes but I usually fail to then make up a proper plot to embed the scene in, so eventually I end up dropping the idea. I tried to make this something else than incoherently glued together random scenes. x) I might not ever finish it properly due to lack of brain cells necessary to come up with a proper ending, but at least I wanted to write the part that I have fixed and somewhat ready in my mind.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Doors, too many damn doors.

Zoro had to stop way too often for kicking in another of the grime-covered steel doors lining the sides of the underground corridor that had been assigned to him. He swore under his breath. Most of them were empty rooms, full of mould and dust and devoid of windows. In some, however, there stood solid stone tables – certainly not the dinner kind – and others had actual cells built with steel bars with the occasional iron cuffs linked to the walls by chains. He grimaced when thinking about what kind of… facility this underground complex probably used to be.

At least there were no additional corridors that would require turning left or right. It would complicate things, especially for him.

It certainly was a strange path that had led him and the other crew members to this place. The sudden disappearance having occurred a few days before of their recently gained 'ally', who they knew hardly anything about – not like it did anything to dim Luffy's immediate trust – and whose intentions and ultimate goals remained unclear to them, had them initiate an island-wide search, following their captain's command, who had – in a rather unusual serious manner - insisted that they wait no longer. Since they had found absolutely no trace of the missing surgeon they turned towards the locals, who had been displaying a surprisingly neutral attitude towards them – usually people were either very suspicious or weirdly fond of pirates – and had pointed them towards the long since abandoned underground tunnel system. Since it had pretty much been their last option they had split up after having found the entrance to the underground complex, which proved to be a lot more extensive than they had assumed at first. Their questions about the reasons for the tunnels' very existence remained unanswered; no one had given them more than very vague or uninformative replies when it had come to that matter.

The swordsman was once again asking himself why exactly they should bother with all the hassle it had brought them so far just to find someone who might prove useful to them in the future, but who had not exactly laid out his plans to them or was willing to elaborate on the details concerning his intentions. It was, however, not his place to question his captain's orders or decisions, although he did have his own views on matters and did not hesitate to speak his mind.

But no matter what, he would follow his captain and crew to whatever end.

He glared at the only source of light down here, the torch he had brought, since it did not look like it was going to last long enough to allow him finish investigating this part of the underground structure. He would have to hurry up unless he wanted to go back to find the others and get a new torch.

Another door gave in under the force of his boot slamming into it, revealing yet another empty, dust-covered room. He sighed in annoyance. This was a total waste of time.

He shifted his gaze towards the part of the corridor that he had not yet explored. It seemingly went on forever.

Bleh.

Suddenly something caught his eye, something that looked like it did not quite belong here. It took him a few seconds to realise just what it was, but then he noticed what had been bothering him.

It was one of the doors on the path ahead. It differed from the others since it looked a lot less unused than it probably should. He frowned. They had not found any signs of the Shichibukai so far, but it seemed fairly unlikely that he would take on hiding in a random underground complex on a random island for whatever reason after they had sailed together for several weeks, making their way to Dressrosa. Although, it was not like he was able to judge the man's character in any way since said man always kept to himself unless he was practically forced to do otherwise.

Zoro mentally shrugged, deciding that it was worth investigating anyway. He walked towards said door, which on closer inspection proved to also be a lot more reinforced than those he had seen so far. Kicking this one in might prove too much of a task. He unsheathed the black cursed sword, Shuusui, not too happy about the fact that he had to abuse a precious blade to cut something as profane as a door, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

One slash and the door, now neatly split in two, slammed to the ground. Zoro did not move for a few more seconds, listening for movement, ready for a possible assault. After all, his entry had not been very subtle. The room before him was as dark and seemed as lifeless as all the others he had seen so far, but it appeared to be more spacious than any of the previous rooms.

He remained alert, treading carefully as he fully entered the room, sword in one hand, torch in the other. He let his gaze shift across the walls, spotting nothing apart from a sink and a longer surface next to it that seemed to be covered with some sort of tools. It was not easy to make out details in the dim torchlight, but it seemed that no dust was to be seen here. He frowned. Someone must have been here, most certainly not too long ago. He listened. The crackling of the torch's fire was the only thing audible apart from his own breath and heartbeat.

Or was it?

He turned towards the part of the room that had yet to be examined, taking a few step into the direction of the sound he thought he had might have heard. It turned out that the room had an entire second section that had not been visible from the entrance given the absolute darkness.

Zoro now was able to hear what had just lingered on the edge of his perception: someone's breath, slow and laboured. He could make out the silhouette of what he had already seen in the other rooms: a table made of stone situated in the centre of the place.  
And this one was not empty at all.

What. The.

"… Fuck."

It appeared that he had finally found Law.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Zoro would have assumed that the man was no longer alive given his current state, but the painfully slow rise and fall of the bare inked chest proved otherwise. The surgeon was bound to the table by what could only be Seastone cuffs - since the whole room would probably have been already taken apart otherwise - around his ankles, wrists and neck, blindfolded, laid out on the table like nothing more than a corpse in a morgue, wearing nothing but a white sheet that had been spread across his hips. With growing disgust the swordsman took in the numerous surgical scars running across the inside of the other pirate's left leg, the outside of the right, parts of his upper arms and stomach. His palms were turned upwards, a thick needle stuck in the crook of each arm. Both seemed to serve the purpose of injecting liquids into his system that were stored in bags hanging on poles standing next to the table, one lucent, one crimson. The torch's flames shed little light, but the numerous dark red and blue spots on the skin of his forearms were still clearly visible, which indicated that whoever had pushed those needles into his veins had done so several times and had not been too careful about it. Lines of dried blood ran from the corners of his mouth down to his jawline.

Zoro tightened his grip on the sword in his left hand, feeling anger surge inside him. It was very unlikely that the Warlord had consented to being tied down to a table in a windowless hellhole so he could be used as some kind of lab rat. He himself had seen his fair share of blood and violence, but it had been in battle. This was different. This kind of torture was humiliating, despicable and countless times crueller than injuring someone in a fair fight. The swordsman had not known the surgeon for a very long time and was far from putting his complete trust in him, but he had come to respect him and acknowledge him as an equal and ally.

If Law had been dragged down here the day he disappeared he had been chained to that table for more than a week. Which meant that he would probably have died of dehydration unless he had been kept alive so far by artificial means and those injections were the only things keeping him from dying. Death was probably not too far away from overtaking the surgeon who bore his name since he had not shown any reaction to the intruder. He was either unconscious or already too weakened to respond.

Zoro hesitantly sheathed the black blade and stepped towards the table. He would have to find the keys to the cuffs since he was unable to cut them himself. He would also need to get back to find the others, but he did not really want to leave the other pirate alone in this room now that he had found him. Law had still not shown any sign of life other than taking slow, ragged breaths. Zoro lifted his hand to carefully remove the black cloth that covered the other man's eyes, fingertips brushing against his forehead, noticing that Law ran a fairly high temperature. The raven's lids were closed, brows pulled together slightly in a pained expression.

Whatever perverted bastard had done all this to him must really have been a sick fuck.

The sound of footsteps coming from the corridor had him turn towards the entrance, sword at the ready. It did however not take him long to identify the familiar footfall of heeled sandals.

"Zoro? You here?"

Funny, he would never have thought that one day he would be this glad to hear the red-haired witch's voice.

"'m in here." He said, lowering his blade.

Nami entered the main section of the room, carrying a torch and the three separate parts of her Clima-Tact.

"You done down here? We're finished with our section, there's really nothing-"

"Nami."

She now stood in the entranceway of the separate section, giving him a puzzled look.

"What? Did you – oh. Oh no."

She almost dropped her torch when she saw what he had discovered. Brown eyes widened in shock as she took in the state Law was in.

"Is he…?" "No, he's alive. But he might not be for long."

She stared at the man tied down to the stony surface who still had not shown any sign of life other than drawing slow, laboured breaths.

"What the hell happened to him? Why would someone even do this?"

Zoro shook his head, his gaze remaining fixed on Law. "I have no idea. But we need to get him out of here as soon as possible."

She swallowed, nodding. She tucked the Tact away and raised her hand to lightly touch the seemingly unconscious man's bare shoulder. He flinched at the contact, but did not open his eyes.

The two Strahwats exchanged glances. Nami shifted her gaze back to the Warlord.

"Law?" she said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_A few days ago…_

"Law-san?"

He glanced sideways, shifting his gaze from the endless blue of the ocean to the woman that had addressed him.

"Nico-ya" he said, acknowledging her presence with a slight inclination of the head.

The black-haired woman looked at him for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Are you alright? You seem… discontent."

The question startled him. He had had little contact with most of the crew members since they had set sail to Dressrosa after leaving Punk Hazard. He preferred it that way. Luffy, of course, seemingly considered the term "privacy" a word unheard of. The rookie pirate blissfully ignored Law's somewhat polite requests of being left alone. It usually took one of the more sensible members of the crew to drag Luffy away from "Trao-guy", terrorising his every step by following him everywhere, asking him to join one of their childish games of tag or eat with them or sit in a circle and look like idiots just for the sake of it or whatever. Sometimes he even sported a sulky face and asked Law why he was being so cross all the time because he himself thought that "pirate life is so much fun". Not always did one of the crew come to his rescue though; he then had to teleport his way around the ship to escape the captain's inane prodding. The omnipresent sensation of minor irritation that he felt had almost become a habitual state at this point.

The other Strawhats had accepted their captain's decision to form an alliance with Law without questioning him or his motivations in the slightest. They did have different attitudes towards the whole thing though. The swordsman, who also seemed to act as first mate, always kept a watchful eye on him, which was hardly surprising and also somewhat reassuring because it indicated that at least someone on this ship was not as naïve and immediately trusting as Luffy. The cook and navigator seemed to share that opinion although they appeared a tad friendlier than Roronoa. The sniper and the reindeer (or tanuki or gorilla or whatever… with him it was hard to tell at times) were blatantly afraid of him, which meant that they were – to a certain extent at least – quite smart. The doctor appeared to be secretly admiring him though and sometimes followed him around, trying to hide behind things as soon as he realised that Law was well aware of his little shadow (he hid the wrong way round though and was thus being more than obvious).

The skeleton and the cyborg's views on things seemed to be somewhere in between since they had displayed a rather neutral attitude towards his presence on the ship.

The archaeologist however had been almost impossible to read. He had assumed that she was going to watch from the side lines, but would never sit back idly if he were to betray their captain. She would probably provide a friendly reminder of her watchful presence instead. A gentle breaking of the neck or spine perhaps. And that would be pretty hard to fix.

He was thus quite surprised when she voiced what could only be interpreted as concern, although whether it was genuine or not he could not tell. He looked back at her, his expression carefully guarded, giving nothing away.

"I am well. I was wondering why we changed course though."

She held his gaze for a few moments, then she turned towards the ocean, daintily placing one hand on the railing he was leaning onto.

"Navigator-san decided that we ought to restock our supplies and make sure that the ship is ready for… hostile encounters. We are thus heading towards a small island not far from our current position."

He scowled. Naturally, no one had bothered with informing him about the spontaneous change of plans. Not to mention asking for his opinion. Now that would be just absurd, wouldn't it.

Nico Robin offered him the slightest of smiles. "You need not be concerned, Law-san. We will stay for no longer than two days. The delay will be rather insignificant."

He nodded, but was far from content. Every day they lingered about was another day of him being kept from getting closer to Doflamingo. Another day of keeping him from finally taking revenge after all those years.

The dark-haired woman stepped away from the railing. "I shall leave you to your thoughts." He nodded at her before she walked away. Shore leave ahead. How jolly. Perhaps it would prove to be a good opportunity to finally escape the perpetual madness of this ship.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**A/N: **Jeez this took forever... I had no idea of what was going to happen in this chapter, so I pmuch made it up as I went along. I actually rather enjoyed writing it eventually.

This has not been proofread by a native speaker, so if you find any weird collocations, terrible punctuation and the likes you may place all blame on me.

I also thought of an ending for this, rejoice, for I shall finish this piece of literature one day.

For those who are interested: this is what it looks like after I scribbled down all the waffle floating around in my head x): tinypic dot com /r/sw3j2w/8

Writing tracks of choice: The Skints - Tazer Beam | I Walk The Line – Stigmatized

* * *

Law regarded the slowly approaching shore, not quite sure whether he should be annoyed by the delay or relieved by the prospect of finally having some alone time. Like, properly alone.

"Traaaaffy ~!"

Yeah, perhaps shore leave really was not such a bad idea.

He sighed inwardly and braced himself before turning to face his new 'ally', who was almost eating his ears with the wide grin that was usually plastered to his face, one hand placed on his precious headdress to keep it from being blown away by the wind.

"Strawhat-ya" he said, schooling his features into a neutral expression. The rookie pirate slammed a hand onto his shoulder, making the surgeon jump a little.

"Look! The beach is awesome! And there is a jungle! And a town!"

"I am aware of the landscape ahead, yes" he said dryly. Not like Luffy knew what this little word called 'sarcasm' meant anyway.

"Oh yeah, you've been staring at the same spot for hours, so you really must know."  
Law shot the younger pirate a suspicious glance after having pried off the fingers that had been digging into his shoulder. "How would you know?"

Luffy gave his hand a short pouty look, but immediately flashed a smile afterwards. "You wanted me to leave you alone so I only watched you in the last days."

"…"

Whatever. On this ship he could never completely let his guard down anyway. There might be a watchful eye sprouting when he thought that he truly was on his own for once.

The other captain continued to stand next to him, grinning. At least he kept his paws to himself now.

Law did not actually feel inclined to harm the rookie pirate or any of his crew full of crazy misfits for their perpetual pestering, but he was feeling restless and constantly on edge. He was finally approaching his target, and anger, sadness, hatred and the need for revenge that he had bottled up for 13 years were making it incredibly hard to maintain his carefully cultivated self-control and nonchalant demeanour.  
He kept telling himself that a few days or weeks would hardly make a difference in the long run, especially after having patiently waited for so long, but if they did not set the wheels for his plans in motion very soon he would snap. And someone would have to play scapegoat for his boiling rage once it had been unleashed, and he'd rather not that someone be Strawhat or his crew.

He pulled the rim of his hat further down to shadow his amber eyes and went back to staring landwards. The shore was now almost in range. He heard the crew's chatter and the navigator's shouted orders, but he did not pay attention. Instead he looked down onto his left hand, flexing the tattooed fingers. His Fruit ability had saved his life and countless more, yet it had destroyed numerous others. And ultimately it would grant immortality. At the cost of his existence that was.

He scowled, pondering the weaknesses that also came with his power. It required energy to maintain and use, leaving him pathetically vulnerable once he had none left. He thus had to carefully ration every bit he had. Which meant that they better not run into some sort of fight before reaching Dressrosa. He could probably rely on the ship's crew to take care of business, but if you wanted something done properly you had to do it yourself. Naturally.

He could also be killed ridiculously easily by being shoved into the sea, which had always been something he greatly resented about his ability. He had not found himself in such a situation until now – certainly one of the rather ironic advantages of having a submarine as a main vessel – but living life on the sea dramatically increased the chances of death by drowning for obvious reasons. Especially if one sank like a hammer.

Law looked sideways, noticing that Strawhat no longer stood by his side. No one seemed to pay attention to him at this point and the shore finally was within range. He created a Room and teleported himself onto the beach, not bothering with sparing the ship he just left another glance.

He made his way across the impeccable white sand towards the shelter offered by the island's forest. Surprisingly, this was not the jungle they had spotted from afar, but rather something that one would expect to find on land with a more temperate climate. It seemingly consisted of deciduous woodland, the ground overgrown with fern, green ivy entwining around the trees. Birdsong filled the air along with the gentle rustling of leaves, stirred by the light breeze coming from the nearby ocean.

He exhaled slowly, trying to let the environment's calamity enter his mind, but it remained a futile attempt. He felt as taut as a wire. The constant lack of sleep did not exactly contribute to the elevation of his general mood, permanent headaches something he had pretty much gotten used to in recent years, but in the last days the word 'insomnia' might well have been added to his name. On the ship he had his standard spot, seated on the deck, leaning against the main mast, nodachi placed against his shoulder, hands clutching the sheath, shooting anyone who dared pester him a cold glare. He was probably pushing it with his permanent hostility, but he needed to stay focused on his goal and could not afford distractions like forming bonds with the crew. Although their captain seemed to be trying incredibly hard to dissuade him from remaining detached.  
He also spent the nights on deck, not even lying down anymore, staring at the ocean for hours, thoughts running in circles, keeping him from getting any rest at all. He knew that he needed sleep to maintain his strength, but every time the sun rose again he found himself as wide awake as ever.

He blinked, his vision seeming to waver a bit. Deciding that settling down for a few moments would probably be a good idea he walked parallel to the water, remaining in the forest. No need for having any of the Strawhats spot him in order to subject him to further prodding.

He discovered a spot that seemed appropriate for a short rest. It was the base of a giant tree, the ground in front of it covered with moss, perfectly situated since it enabled him to keep his gaze on the ocean.

Law sank down, now actually feeling the exhaustion that had settled in his bones. He leaned his back against the trunk, Kikoku resting against his shoulder, the cursed sword's presence oddly comforting as it had always been. He exhaled slowly, finally feeling the solace offered by absolute solitude seep into his mind, making him feel a bit less on edge.  
He would have to use the remaining days before their arrival at their designated destination to calm down properly anyway. Doflamingo would just shred him to pieces if he charged at him blindly, letting his emotions get the better of him. And that would certainly make for an incredibly pathetic immediate defeat.

The soothing sounds of his environment made him relax enough to let his mind wander, absently noticing that he was actually about to doze off. He knew he should not permit it, but all the days of restlessness and constant lack of sleep seemed to finally catch up with him.

Something lingering on the edge of his perception made him instinctively tighten his grip on the nodachi's sheath, but he could not quite grasp why he should bother with keeping his guard up at this very moment. Sleep finally overwhelmed him, engulfing him in darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Warning:** Upcoming chapters will contain torture, needles, blades, pain, that kind of stuff. If that makes you utterly uncomfortable I strongly suggest that you get out of here now. You have been warned.

**A/N: **Writing track of choice: Barber – Agnus Dei (if that does not get your infernal furnaces of angsty inspirations all fired up you can probably not be helped x). )

* * *

Cold.

He felt so cold.

Law finally awoke, eyelids fluttering open, something brushing against his lashes as he finally opened his eyes, only to see nothing but absolute darkness. Panic bubbled up in his chest for a second before he scolded himself for his irrational instinctive reaction. He felt a piece of cloth tied around his head, meaning that he had obviously been blindfolded. A dull pain in the back of his skull made him grimace slightly.

He was lying on his back, feeling the cold radiating from the rough surface under him, seeping into his skin that seemed bare bar a cloth across his hips. He tried to move his limbs but had to realise that his wrists, ankles and neck were chained to whatever he was lying on with what could only be Kairoseki cuffs since he felt that he could not even so much as tickle a muscle into moving and any attempt to use his Fruit power remained futile.

A sudden pain shot from his right arm straight into his heart, making him gasp. I was then that he noticed the unpleasant sensation of what could only be a needle in the crook of his arm.

He shivered involuntarily, hating the feeling of the foreign material in his vein. Its purpose most likely was to inject a drug into his bloodstream although the actual reason remained a mystery to him since the Seastone incapacitated him quite perfectly already.

That only made him realise how incredibly infuriating the whole situation was. He had let his guard down like a complete idiot. It appeared that someone had snuck up on him and knocked him out while he had been snoozing off. He had no idea about the whos and whys, but he knew for certain that there would be no easy way out of this. If there was a way at all.

It seemed unlikely that this was the work of the Marines. Even if they had actually revoked his Warlord status because of his alliance with the Strawhats they would most certainly not expect him to drop anchor on a random island and then sneak up on him in case he let his guard down, drag him away to chain him to a table to abuse him as some kind of lab rat. Some of them might have slightly distorted ideas about the concept of justice, but this was just not their way of doing things.

Perhaps it was one of Doflamingo's men. But such actions would also be considered rather pointless from the other Warlord's perspective. The current king of Dressrosa would certainly prefer... meeting in person to terminate his life personally. Preferably with an audience. Well, he would try.

Another possibility would be a crazed individual. The New World did not seem to lack those.  
But did he get picked at random? Or had this been in the planning for a longer time? But again, why would someone go through all the trouble of tracking his whereabouts and expecting him to end up on this very island? How would they have been able to predict that he would be leaving the ship? That he would be alone?

Either option hardly made any sense.

He decided that pondering his captor's intentions and background was hardly worth the time since it was not getting him anywhere and focused on his surroundings instead. Not that there was an awful lot to focus on. There was no sound to be heard apart from the thumping of his heart and his own breathing. So he was either alone or someone watched him from a distance. Great.

It then occurred to him that this might well have been the last mistake he ever made because there was absolutely no way for him to get away. If whoever had dragged him here decided to simply leave him like this he would just die and would not be able to do a thing to prevent his sure death.  
He pushed that particularly pleasant thought aside and reminded himself that he was not one to give up easily.

A sudden coughing fit interrupted his brooding, completely taking him by surprise. The distinct taste of copper filled his mouth as the coughing seemingly went on forever.  
Finally the urge to wreck his throat and chest by all but throwing up his lungs ceased as. He grimaced, wondering where the hell that came from. It was quite cold in the room and the surface he was tied to did not really contribute to warming him up either, but he would never be coughing blood because of low temperatures.  
Unless whatever drug had entered his system was causing internal damage.

He exhaled slowly in an attempt to calm himself. He absolutely despised being subjected to any kind of medical treatment – and this one was certainly not intended to be in any way beneficial to his health – carried out by others. It might have seemed ironic considering his profession and abilities, but it probably was just because of his outstanding medical knowledge and skills paired with his need to always be in control of any situation that he never ever let anyone touch him to treat any kind of injury, which was rarely necessary since his way of fighting usually kept enemies at a distance and ensured that he walked away unscathed. If anything did happen to him despite all precautions he never let anyone fix him up, not even his own crew. That was something hewould always do himself, always.

And right now he was completely and utterly at the mercy of fuck knew who with absolutely no way out.

Marvellous.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Warning: **Torture, pain and the likes ahead. But I guess that you would not be here if you did not thrive on fictional characters' pain. x)

* * *

The hours were passing slowly, although whether it was hours, mere minutes or whole days he could not tell. No sound was to be heard. Nothing but the steady thumping of his own heart in his chest.

Way too much time to think about possible worst case scenarios. Like just being left in this place, unable to move, only to eventually die from dehydration. Or being tortured until his body gave up. In that case he would also die.

Plenty of reasons to panic. Hysteria, however, was not in his nature. Neither was drowning in self-pity or self-delusion regarding his current situation. Nor was going down like a coward. Whatever pain he might have to endure, he would not break.

His thoughts felt sluggish, his usually highly functional mind seemingly not working at its usual speed. That was probably to blame on the Seastone cuffs holding down, as well as on the persistent painful pounding in the back of his skull. It was quite likely that he had actually been taken out with a well-placed, violent blow to the head. Pretty pathetic that he had allowed things to come this far, considering what he had already managed to live through. And now his very existence might be terminated because of one moment of inattentiveness. But that was what would inevitably happen to those who did not constantly watch their backs.

What he found rather disconcerting were the random stabs of pain racing from his heart through his whole body. Just like the coughing fits that occurred more and more frequently, making him throw up blood again and again for no apparent reason, the pain was likely caused by the unknown drug that was permanently being injected into his system. He absolutely hated not knowing what was happening to his physical form. He despised the loss of control that came with the lack of knowledge.

The sudden interruption of the otherwise absolute silence had him focus intently on the sound he had heard. It was faint and distant, yet it seemed as loud as a cannon being fired due to the absence of any other noise.  
Footsteps. Approaching.  
He felt his heartbeat quicken, the initial nervous reaction immediately annoying him. He had already resolved that he would never beg for freedom or his life and neither would he demand information regarding the who or why or where. It would only make him look more pathetic.  
He slowly let out a breath he had not realised he had been holding as the unmistakeable sound of a key being turned in its lock resounded in the room. The quiet creak of metal scraping on metal indicating moving door hinges followed.

The visitor moved towards his direction. From the steps' location he could tell that he was not lying on the ground, but rather on an elevated surface, probably a table of some sort.  
Law forced his breathing to remain even, having no intention of showing any signs of fear even though he couldn't help feel a rather unpleasant kind of anticipation, finally encountering whoever had dragged him here.

Nothing happened for several seconds. The other had seemingly stopped close to him, unmoving.  
The rustling of clothing indicated movement. He winced involuntarily when cold fingers closed around his right wrist. It took him a few seconds to realise that the other – hand size and finger shape indicated male – was feeling for a pulse.  
So he was supposed to be half-dead already?  
The grip on his wrist was released and the other one stepped away. Other sounds that he could not identify followed, clicking, rustling, maybe things being unpacked and moved around.  
The footsteps moved back towards him, this time to his left side. His left arm was turned to have his palm face upwards. He was hardly able to fight back, all strength seemingly sapped from his limbs, making him feel like a ragdoll. Something was wrapped tightly around his upper arm.  
He knew what would be next, gritting his teeth as the needle was – not too gently – pushed into the crook of his arm, causing a painful sting that made him try pulling his arm away, but he couldn't. The infusion line was taped to his forearm, the tourniquet removed.  
So now he was getting more injections. More drugs. Could hardly get any better.  
No word had been spoken yet, the silence as eerie as the whole situation, which still struck him as fairly surreal.  
Maybe he was actually dreaming. Problem was that he most certainly wasn't.

The other went back to handling more possible torture devices, then was back at his right side. More rustling, then the sounds stopped. Silence for several seconds. The other seemed to be waiting for something.

A sudden immense pain in his ribcage made him gasp involuntarily as his heart felt like it was being crushed by a fist. He thought that he was burning up from the inside, agony racing from his chest into his limbs, his muscles tensing up, the links around his wrists, ankles and neck pushing against his skin, sapping his strength to the point where his body went almost completely limp despite the excruciating pain flowing through it.

He felt his racing heart stutter as hot liquid shot up his throat, the taste of copper filling his mouth, making him choke as blood blocked his windpipe.  
He was going to die, the prospect of imminent cardiac arrest the probably last thing to cross his conscious mind.

Just when he thought that this was actually an incredibly pathetic way to terminate his existence the veil of the near-death sensation was from his blinded eyes, the pain partly ebbing away, heartbeat steading. He was finally able to draw a shuddering breath after having forced the bitter blood that he had nearly choked on down his throat.

He was breathing hard, the pain still shooting through his entire body with every heartbeat, but it was still nothing compared to what he had just gone through. In the back of his head his mind had started to come up with possible candidates regarding the drug that had led to his body's extreme reaction, but he failed to come up with a definitive answer, his thoughts still sluggish.

Not like he had never been in pain before – he had been, plenty of times in fact – but never before had he been completely blind and completely unable to even make an attempt to fight back. He absolutely resented that fact. He had fought for survival for many years, eventually made a name for himself, gathered a crew, had come up with an elaborate plan to finally take down his nemesis and had carefully laid out the tracks in recent years to set that train in motion. And now he might just go down like a little bitch because of a few puny injections.

His thoughts were interrupted by the touch of a cold hand, fingers gripping his left wrist.  
He felt another needle break his skin a few centimetres below the wrist on the inside of his arm, the stinging pain that followed indicating the puncture of a vein, making him curl his hands into fists in disgust. Another injection, maybe this one was supposed to finish him off.

Despite not being able to see anything but total blackness he knew that his conscious mind was shutting down at rapid speed mere seconds after the injection, but there was no additional pain. He felt his muscles relax against his will, his fingers unclenching, nails no longer digging into his palms as he asked himself why the hell he would be anaesthetized right now.

The last thing he felt before passing out completely was the still lingering pain in his entire body and a flutter of panic in his chest as the last thing crossing mind were the things that could possibly be done to him while he was out cold.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

He woke from a nightmare.  
Dread ripped him back to consciousness from what seemed like an endless fever-induced restless sleep.  
His lids fluttered open, eyes seeing nothing but darkness, his initial thought being that he had perhaps not awoken after all.

His throat felt dry and sore, his stomach contracting painfully, making him realise that he was absolutely starved. Why was he anyway? And why was it so damn dark?

He shuddered as coldness slowly crept up his spine. He wanted to get up, to get away from the stone radiating cold that he was lying on, but he immediately had to realise that he would not be going anywhere because his neck, wrists and ankles were tied to the rough surface under him. The attempt to move his limbs caused a sudden pain to burn along the length of the inside of his whole left leg.

He scowled, not comprehending the current situation at all.

And then it all came back to him in a rush, the memories, the pain and the violent surge of bottled up panic in his chest as he remembered the reason for his loss of consciousness and initial confusion after having regained it.  
He had been out cold and had no idea for how long or what had happened since.  
The fog that seemed to be shrouding his thoughts cleared further, if not completely, the other unpleasant sensations that had been present before he had passed out slowly registering. There were still what he assumed to be infusion lines stuck in his arms, the omnipresent pain racing through his blood with every beat of his aching physical heart and the cold of the room seeping into his mostly exposed skin.  
Still stuck in the torture chamber. Jolly.  
He exhaled slowly in a rather poor attempt to regain some of his usual calamity, noticing that the dizziness he had felt since waking up was not wearing off completely. At least he was still alive and did not seem near the brink of death or anything. Well, for now.

The sudden pain of what seemed like a thousand needles piercing his lungs and another random coughing fit wrecked his hardly established calm as he gasped in pain before blood shot up his throat. Panic flared up in his mind as the liquid blocked his windpipe while agony burned up his lungs.

It seemingly took longer than last time for the coughing to stop and the pain to somewhat ebb away. He grimaced as he forced the last rest of blood back down his throat, taking a shaky breath afterwards as he half-expected another of those awful fits, but nothing happened, although more of the pain lingered this time, his chest stinging with every inhale.

"I guess that last one was perhaps a bit much, my bad."

Law jumped inwardly at the sound of the voice from not too far away. He had not taken notice of the other's presence at all. Had he been watched this whole time?

Gross.  
He would not grant his tormentor the satisfaction of dignifying the utterance with any kind of acknowledgement. The situation was already humiliating enough. No matter what, he would neither break nor beg for his life.

"Seems like you're not having too much trouble handling the dose though, am I right?"

Dose of what? Poison? That was the only thing he would consider the possible cause of these awful reactions he had to go through.

"Taciturn, are we? You know, that's really not very polite. You ought to be grateful for having a chance to contribute to the outcome of this war."

Yeah, whatever.

"Did you enjoy your little nap last time? Frankly, I hadn't been quite sure whether you would wake up at all. Might've been a bit much. Don't worry, I got everything covered now."

Got what covered? Was he talking about the anaesthetic? Did that idiot have any idea about general anaesthesia at all? And what the heel had been done to him while he had been out cold anyway?

Fingers closed around his left arm below the Seastone cuff around his wrist. He grit his teeth, trying to ignore the immediate speeding up of his heartbeat. Not this again.

The other one snickered. "Aw, come on. It's really not that bad. Perhaps you find it reassuring to know that you're in most capable hands."

Feels really great to be at the mercy of some lunatic. Totally does.

Law wanted to scream in frustration when he felt yet another needle break his skin as it was ruthlessly pushed into a vein, the rapid loss of consciousness following seconds after the injection of the drug. And there was nothing he could do.

His last thought before darkness overwhelmed him was that he would make the bastard pay tenfold for this humiliation.

* * *

Awaking was even worse than the last time, although he knew exactly where he was for a change. He felt like he had only halfway regained consciousness and didn't even bother with opening his eyes, knowing that they would remain unseeing anyway, but he mustered enough strength to angrily pull his arms backwards in a futile attempt to break the hold on his wrists, the force making the bones of his wrists and hands creak and adding to the abrasion that had already been caused by the rough Seastone links around his wrists, but he did not care if he further injured himself. He wanted to get away from the perpetual agony that was quickly manifesting again now that he had woken up. He wanted to rip out the needles stuck in his arms, he could feel the material penetrate his veins, hurting him, whatever drug he was being exposed to slowly poisoning his system.

He could not tell how much time had passed since he had been put out. He was, however, more concerned with finding out what had been done to him this time.

Despite not feeling even halfway awake he tried to concentrate on the various unpleasant sensations running through his body and what might have been their cause. He still had a headache, pounding in the back of his skull, most likely caused by the blow to the head that had taken him out in the first place. It might also have led to a concussion, adding to his inability to properly regain full consciousness.  
There was the disconcerting pain accompanied by every beat of his heart. It felt like microscopic splinters of glass had entered the bloodstream, as if they were moving in every vein and artery with every heartbeat. He knew that it was nonsense, that there were no actual foreign objects present in his blood, but it was something he had never felt before and it left him feeling incredibly vulnerable. And he hated that.  
The only cause he could think of was the unknown drug that was being injected into his veins. It would probably ultimately kill him from the inside, the circulatory system would deteriorate, slowly, excruciatingly, eventually resulting in organ failure due to insufficient blood supply, cardiac arrest inevitable shortly afterwards-  
Fear sank its claws into his chest, sinking into his skin like ice, all but overwhelming him. He tried to ignore the quickening of his breath, the loudness of his heart thumping in his ribcage and the strong urge to run, but he realised that it was only with great effort that he managed to stop himself from slipping into a panicked state. He had to stick to rationality. It had often been his only anchor in life. He had spent years building his perpetually analysing calm state of mind and unperturbed demeanour that others always found so disconcerting as it rendered him unpredictable. Nothing could ever get to him because he never let it.

And now he was on the fringes of breaking because of some minor discomfort.

Possibly lethal discomfort.

With absolutely no way to escape.

Killed by a needle. How pathetic.

He decided once again that wallowing in self-contempt and what-ifs was utterly pointless. What had he been doing before getting lost in digression? Yeah, finding out what that sick bastard had done to him this time.

He tried to recall the last time he had woken up, although it seemed hard to do so. He did not really remember what had happened when exactly. Pain. That he remembered. The bastard had taunted him, had said something but he no longer knew what exactly it had been.

He tried to move his legs despite knowing that it would not get him anywhere because his ankles were also chained to the cold stone he was lying on.

The minimal movement made a sharp pain cut almost all the way to the bone of both legs. He winced, unable to suppress a pained gasp from escaping his lips. The unexpected agony made it nearly impossible to pinpoint the location of the assumed injury at first, but after he forced himself to somewhat ignore the pain and to take a few shuddering breaths he felt where the wounds were. The injuries seemed to run along the inner side of the left and on the outer side of the right leg, starting mid-thigh and ending a few centimetres above the ankle.

Since there was no way the lesions were still open they must have been sewn or stapled shut. If he somewhat managed to partly block out the immense pain that was flaring up he could feel an awful pinching ache along the enormously long incisions.

The realisation that his body had been cup open and sewn closed again left him horrified and slightly nauseous in addition to the agony that seemed to intensify now that he had figured out what had probably happened. What the hell was that sick prick doing to him? Or maybe he was not even the only one? For all he knew there could be dozens of lunatics lined up, eager to test whatever shit they had in mind on a live subject.

Fuck. He had to get out of here. Now.

He tried to force himself to think properly and come up with a way to escape. It looked quite bad. He would not consider himself physically weak, although sheer strength had never been his way to win a fight. But he was weakened, starving, severely injured and the Seastone was continuously sapping his strength in addition to rendering his powers useless. He could not think of a way to get out of this situation. But he had to try. He would not give up and die a slow, suffocating death.

He braced himself for what he was about to do. If it worked at all it would probably prove useless, but he could not just do nothing.

He pulled his left arm backwards until the cuff dug into his hand, squeezing the bones and scraping away the skin. He would have to break a bone or two, but it would be an insignificantly small price to pay if it got him out of here. It was unlikely that he would be able to even partially regain his powers while still exposed to Seastone in general, but even if he could only access a fraction of his ability he would be able to free himself.

He kept pulling his arm back, adding more pressure to the strained bones and ligaments. The latter would tear soon if he continued, but he would be able to fix it in due time once he got away.

Suddenly he felt a familiar sensation build up below his thorax, and even though he knew what was about to follow he was far from prepared for the violent surge of pain roaring in his chest. He arched his back in agony as his only thought was that he was going to die right then because this time it was much worse than before.  
A choked moan escaping his mouth was stifled by blood racing up his throat, making it impossible to draw breath. The link around his neck kept him from getting up. He realised that he was about to faint. If he passed out now he would drown in his own blood.

Blood ran from the corners of his mouth down to his jaw as he struggled to stay conscious without being able to breathe. The only thing he could think of was that he was about to die in some cold, dark place, alone and, most importantly, without having brought to justice the man who was responsible for most of the misery that he had gone though in life.

The thought that the other Warlord would just walk away unscathed gave him enough strength to cling to consciousness a bit longer. It was enough for him to weakly cough up the remaining blood and then force it back down his throat, the bitter taste of copper making him want to throw it up again even though his stomach was empty. He took a shuddering breath to finally fill his lungs with much-needed oxygen. The pain in his chest was diminishing slowly, but it would linger and not disappear completely.

He tried to concentrate on somewhat regulating his rapid breathing and heartbeat and force himself to calm down. He had to break his bonds and escape this place before the other one came back. Ideally he would find his belongings on the way out and poke the bastard with his sword a few dozen times when he ran into him.

But before he could get back to forcing his hand through the cuff by possible breaking some bones and tearing ligaments he felt a wake of exhaustion wash over him. In the back of his mind he knew that it was only plausible for his body temporarily shut down since he had endured trauma, an awful lot of both mental and physical stress and he had not eaten anything in what might have been several days already. But he could not afford giving in to the sudden incredibly tempting urge to just let go and rest for a bit.

Only for a bit.

Just a second.

Just… one… second…

It took him less than that to lose consciousness.

He woke up with a start, panic flooding his mind as he tried to comprehend what had woken him up and why he had passed out in the first place.

Something was being dragged across his chest, slightly digging into the skin, moving upwards, trailing across his collarbone before it disappeared. The sensation made him shudder involuntarily with disgust.

"Thought it was about time I paid you another visit. Did you miss me?"

Fuck. The lunatic was back. And he had missed his chance to at least attempt an escape.

He was so dead.


End file.
